


The First and the Last

by neurotrophicfactors



Series: Tumblr Shorts [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurotrophicfactors/pseuds/neurotrophicfactors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After disbanding the Inquisition, Evelyn Lavellan left Orlais to live in Kirkwall, where she found an unexpected ally and more. </p><p>Based on the prompts: a first kiss and the last kiss</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First and the Last

**Author's Note:**

> Evelyn Lavellan belongs to my dear friend, [@openthepocketwatch](http://openthepocketwatch.tumblr.com)

Inquisitor Lavellan was a force of nature. 

Though she no longer carried the title and Tristran never met her personally while she was in office, he recognized her on sight when he first found himself at the end of her blade. 

It wasn’t the missing lower-half of her arm, which she’d skillfully hidden with the twist of her body. It wasn’t the faint Dalish lilt of her words, despite the absence of vallaslin on her face. It was the authority with which she spoke. The surety she still carried with her unknowingly even after all that had happened. She had the voice of a woman who could shake the world–and had done so. 

Before the Inquisition was disbanded, Tristran was one of its top researchers in elven lore. Accompanied by a squadron of soldiers, he had led expeditions through elven ruins: translating script to the best of his ability, copying artistry for interpretation, and recovering useful magical artifacts. Through Ambassador Montilyet, he gained access to the University of Orlais library; a dream come true for the young Dalish historian. Between his work in the field and his work at the university, Tristran never had the opportunity to meet the Inquisitor, but there was no mistaking her once he saw her. 

She was beautiful. 

It had been months since Tristran had heard anything of Evelyn Lavellan, but while it surprised Tristran to find himself face to face with her, he was not surprised to see that she still hunted the Dread Wolf. May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps: that’s what Tristran’s Keeper told him the day he left the clan. Words that took on a new meaning as they dissolved into the woods to heed his call, shattered gods and jagged edges left in their wake. 

Evelyn Lavellan discovered the history of their people and Tristran wasn’t even there to see it. And now his clan was gone and he stood alone against the madness. 

Until Kirkwall. 

Their alliance started out a fragile thing. Evelyn did not know of him as he knew of her. All of her agents, her soldiers, her people, had been cast into doubt with the betrayal at the Exalted Council. Tristran was an elf and an agent of the Inquisition: that was all she knew. The same could be said of countless spies who had infiltrated her numbers. 

Gradually, Evelyn learned to trust him. She offered more pieces of herself. The wolf in her ranks was a forbidden topic–a rule she never verbalized, but abided by all the same–and Tristran respected her silence. In return, he told her of his clan. He told her how he loved and revered their gods, how proud he was to wear Mythal’s vallaslin, only to learn that it was all a lie. He didn’t blame her, and he made sure to tell her that too. 

Together, they put together the pieces; of the mystery that lay before them, and their selves. Tristran scoured books and recorded whatever Evelyn could glean from the Well of Sorrows. The ex-Inquisitor, sharp as a whip, sorted through what information was relevant and what was extraneous–a mere distraction among the bigger picture. Within both of them there was a fire: a will to know and learn. They made a formidable team. 

The first touch came after a fight–not with each other. Tristran watched Evelyn dispatch her foes, the way she favoured her right arm even with the prosthetic on her left. The next day Tristran purchased a heavy shield and led the other elf onto the roof of Evelyn’s manor, a gift from the city’s dwarven Viscount, and then he handed her a dagger and told her to strike at him. 

Evelyn frowned, brushing black bangs back from her face as she took the knife in her right hand. “Alright,” she said awkwardly. “If you insist.” 

She bent her knees, preparing to spring forward, when Tristran raised a hand. 

“No,” he told her. “With your other hand.”

Bright green eyes widened–a brief flash of insecurity. “Why?”

“You have a prosthetic. It’s about time you learn to use it.” 

Evelyn straightened up then and her brows came down with determination. She transferred the blade to her mechanical left hand and curled the fingers around it. Tristran held up the shield. 

Over and over again, Tristran had her strike at the shield. With every instruction Tristran gave her, she became more frustrated. Dark hair fell loose from her bun, her temples became damp with sweat, her teeth were bared. They retired at nightfall and as Evelyn stormed into her bedchamber, Tristran followed. 

He found her sitting on her bed with her prosthetic thrown to the floor. Her elbows were on her knees and her head hung down toward them, hair loose and hiding her face like a shroud. 

“Tristran, I know you mean well,” Evelyn said quietly, “but please leave me alone right now.” 

Her words scraped against him but he let them pass by like a misplaced arrow. He sat next to her and then tugged the leg of his trousers free from his right boot, folding it up his leg over and over. He spoke as he worked. 

“History is my passion, but it isn’t what I signed up for when I joined the Inquisition,” he told her. “I wanted to be a soldier. I wanted to fight to protect this world I love. How many reavers fight for the Inquisition? You’ve seen what I can accomplish with a greatsword. Still, they turned me down.” 

Evelyn raised her head slightly and her hair parted like a curtain as green eyes fixed on him. “Why?”

Tristran’s fingers found a buckle just above his knee. With a few quick tugs, he pulled it loose. “Have you been watching me?”

Evelyn frowned and her eyes followed the line of Tristran’s arms down to his hands as he eased the wooden leg free from the stump of his knee. Her eyes widened. 

“Your leg…”

“I was exploring some ruins when there was a collapse. I was thirteen years old. The Keeper tried everything she could, but there was too much damage,” Tristran said. 

“I noticed a limp, but I thought it was just an old injury,” Evelyn said. 

The corner of Tristran’s mouth pulled up in a wry grin. “Technically, you weren’t wrong.” 

Slowly, Evelyn reached out and brushed her fingertips against the healed flesh over the abrupt end of Tristran’s leg. Her lips twitched into a smile. “And still you explored ruins.” 

“Of course,” Tristran said. “It was what I loved.” 

They sat in silence for a long time. Evelyn’s hand never left Tristran’s leg, like she had to keep touching it to make sure it was real. Tristran’s heart pounded in his chest. 

The first kiss came later, an accident–mostly. Two heads bent over the same book. Neither could be sure who moved toward the other first, but it was unlike any kiss either of them had shared before. 

It was ginger, all the tentativeness of first-time lovers only just beginning to learn of the potential they carried inside of them, but there was also memory. The lips they found were new, but the dance was all the same. It took only a brief second to find out how they fit together and soon Tristran’s fingertips were trailing along Evelyn’s jaw. A moment later they pulled apart, blinking at each other with shock even as their nerves sang out for more. 

It did not take them long to obey. 

There were many kisses after that. Kisses when Evelyn woke alone from nightmares; kisses when one of them made a logical breakthrough; kisses when they survived another fight–but mostly, they kissed simply because they wanted to. 

“Your eyes looked beautiful.”

“The look on his face!”

“You were limping today.”

“I want to wake like this every morning.”

“I was worried.”

“I just felt like it.”

A hundred reasons–all of them better than this one. 

The last kiss.

Screams pierced the night as the city burned. It was like the Breach, but worse. Evelyn stood tall, armour gleaming gold in the firelight. Tristran was on his knees, his prosthetic leg shattered at the shin just like the one of flesh and bone it replaced half a lifetime ago. 

There were tears in Evelyn’s eyes. 

“I can’t carry you,” she said. 

“It’s Solas,” Tristran replied. “If anyone can get through to him and stop this madness, it’s you.” 

“I don’t want to leave you.” 

“I know.”

Evelyn fell to her knees before him and held his face in her hands–one warm with life and the other, cold. She leaned toward him and Tristran’s eyes fell closed as their mouths came together, moving in synchrony in a dance they’d created all on their own. One that no one else could follow. This time, it tasted like saline. 

“I love you.” Tristran’s lips tickled against Evelyn’s as he whispered against them. His thumbs brushed away the tears on her cheeks. “Now go.” 

He watched her stagger to her feet and turn around, then she raised her hands to reach for the daggers that were sheathed over her shoulders. Tristran’s hands found the Sulevin Blade on the ground before him and gripped it tightly. 

Step by step, Evelyn drew further away from Tristran and closer to the embrace of the Dread Wolf.


End file.
